I wasn't truly attuned to the Bard
Who tried to show cosmic significance.
On the dark moonlit forest's stage, he starred.
His Bardic thoughts defying arrogance.
I met the night Bard while he was singing
In chorus with Oaks of the magic grove.
Sprouting with seedlings was his beginning.
Raised in the forest, his true treasure trove.
This bounty lies protected by wet clouds.
It seems nature knows how to calculate
The number of elements it enshrouds,
Even as they waltz on the lovely lake.
The wind plays the wooden flute merrily,
Pleasing the Stars with chants of forestry.
Big nice neat poets girls
Backward or forward
Balanced heart and mind
Balsamic pretty tender
Bardic big lovely girls
Beautiful flowers
Becoming modesty
Angelic
Bardic
Composers
Dole
Everlasting
Fabled
Garnishments.
Heathenistic
Improvisors
Jostle
Kitchen
Ladles.
Metrical Composers
Nourish
Otherworldly
Poetizers'
Quirky
Rumbling
Stomachs.
Tenacious
Umbelliferous
Versifiers
Whisking
Xysters
Yolk fully
and
Zestfully.
In my paper kingdom, words abound,
I reign as king without a crown,
I have no chalice, throne, or gown,
there's no adoring crowd around,
In my paper kingdom, words abound,
the lay of land is margined ground,
my fortress ruled and spiral-bound,
while a moat of feathered ink surround,
In my paper kingdom, words abound,
where bardic verses are profound,
when all I have are words to astound,
my loudest cries are without sound.
As dark canvas unfurls bit by bit
Randomly gulping down acrylic paints of dusk
To satisfy his own thirst, not for long, to sprawl
Into a magical cosmos - flapping his dark wings atop
Swirling soft fair clouds that rock and roll
Through gray-black, myriad dazzling stars so
Idyllic, and artistically spilt sparkling stardust
Charm the sky as if shiny pompoms and buttons;
Night sky lights up my gloomy mind:
In its artsy glory, I savour a tick of tranquil clock;
Glowing bright, stars and moon transmit rays of
Harmony. Aw! tiny drops of opals and diamonds
Thrown arbitrarily at pitch-dark canvas as if
Showcasing splash liquid art - so bright and brilliant;
Knitting a charcoal-black fabric of captivating stars and moon,
Yay! our night sky is shining, inspiring my bardic pupils.
Date: 01/13/2023
Lipogram Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
There's a soft glow about her
Bardic feelings she does stir
She waxes and wanes with time
Has changing moods in night mime
Sometimes, she's bright and happy
Sometimes, gloomy and snappy
Her humour affects the seas
High tides and low tides do tease
Her strength is seen in her scars
She shines bright among the stars
Enchanting like a woman
The moon is nature’s lumen*
08.03.2021
*Lumen: the measure of brightness from a light source
For Chantelle Anne Cooke's "Is the moon male or female or both" contest
Pondering the phrase,
“Written in the stars”-
On the darkest nights,
Crowned with cloudless skies;
A still lake channels
The sonnets above.
19 Mar 2021
The night it seems, a wistful muse
as evening’s peach begins to bruise
with shadows stretched in brooding streams
A wistful muse, the night it seems
A mystic swath, transcending prose
Rewrites the night with grand compose
The Milky Way, a bardic froth
Transcending prose, a mystic swath
A spell is cast, when light has fled
Unwound from angst of unknown thread
Then spun in words of splendor - vast
When light has fled, a spell is cast
Swap Quatrain
14 Jun 2020
Life can be precarious- even sometimes hard.
Anyone can smile- you don't have to be a bard.
Life is not about the destination- or the actual journey.
It's about your character- how you choose to face whatever's about to be!
A lot of things are thrown at you- to test your strength and resolve.
It's how we learn from our mistakes- helps us to evolve.
Sadness and Negativity- will try to stop us or slow us down.
That's when we put positivity into overdrive- chasing away that frown.
It's your life to live- you will do whatever you choose.
Pick your battles wisely- which to win and which to lose.
You are in charge of your destiny- so make it what you will
Smile often, help others- in your heart and mind- allow happy memories to fill.
When you are lonely and feel like- you can't face another day
Call a friend- within your spirituality take solace and don't sway!
Listen to music, read something, light candles- meditate.
Do whatever you can to make every life moment- GREAT!!!
Unsung Heroines Sung
below in palace kitchen
over fire in wattle hut
during lunch breaks coffee chatter
or the health spa apres sweat
where ever women gather
when ever women are
comes a quiet time of voices
a calm time, feelings slowed
then silence……
for a moment gentle communion flows.
in this precious, timeless space
our bardic songs are sung.
the victories over loneliness
prejudice and fear
being out there on ones own
when no one can come near
of woman battles ever fought
and now some woman-won.
In a world ruled by gods and men,
who holds in their hand nature's pen?
When words are smitten to deaf ears,
dost one conclude their deepest fears?
Thy skilled soothsayer is portrayed,
as nothing more than a beggar paid.
A wandering derelict of the past,
his bardic tongue now shall avast.
On a park bench, he sleeps at night,
oft Poe's "The Raven" he does recite.
'Tis thy chilly nights he dreads the most,
so in his prose, he gets engrossed.
The birds doth come and hearken in,
as he weaves his tales and rhymes within.
This man was once like you and me,
so sad this world could never see.
To be hardened like steel, in a battle of wits,
Or to sink without swimming, why call it quits?
Leading the charge, with no one to follow,
Bridging the gap between friend and foe.
These are the things that a Bard should know,
Riding solo between two warring armies,
Roaring out for the kings to heed,
Rather than fight, they should join in mead.
These were the duties of the Bardic ways,
Three sacred truths that remain today,
Three sacred rays of the Awen say,
Creativity, Love, and truth, above all else.
We have been in many forms and shapes,
Stood as trees, and flown with wings,
Swam as a Salmon, and fed with the Bear,
Burned as bright as any other star.
For we are all a part of the great web,
All connected to all things that are and are not,
But many don't seem to understand this,
Somewhere along the way they just forgot.
/|\
Must you mileage chalk up in free verse speed way
For Kim Patrice Nunez*, with hope
Must you mileage chalk up in free verse speed way
Let your wheels skid by letting loose grip on wheel
Free verse range’s for marksmen trained on rondolet*
Dipodic foot pantun villanelle dactyl
Cut their teeth on the slippery run-on-line
Roll their anaepest tongue round limerick rhyme
Do not a ballad begin with aubade fine
Nor drive straight past end-stopped line’s feminine rhyme
Such as painters’ coprophilia canvasses
Hide chance ironic hidden ghostly faces
Cubist abstract surrealist morasses
Whose apprenticeships lead to trumping aces
Far too many poets love the sound of words
Yet shirk bardic tasks speeding on twisted roads
* Nunez: Sorry, no tilde over the “n” on my Mac.
• rondolet: French pronunciation rhymes with “way”.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
A poet's heart gives the soul life
Whilst lifegiving blood sings of strife.
It trusts and beats with steady time
Whilst imagery dances the poet's rhyme.
Amorous in Orange, Grey, Red, and Blue
It exists at once in every coloured hue.
It laughs, it sins, it tolls and rings
It loves and hates and grieves and sings
A poet's heart is many novels unread
But the bardic heart is never wooden or dead.
There once was a heart left there yet now it's lost in darkness bare,
Shattered,
Yet holding out in these confines holds strong a celtic moor of unfastened wear,
Steadfast,
And as that darkened whirlwinds pull keeps pounding at the last held door, a harkened one of ageless strength keeps holding out with bardic care,
Wizened,
For as the young of truest might, a king cannot take fright for peace eternal is well fought for and never given for less than tear,
Honored,
Even still a piece must roam in deepest tome around the corners of war,
Flighted,
Still a one must hold the key to find this place forever sealed and free the mind of endless strife,
Purity
As all roads do lead from one, unto an endless passing run.
Love
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